


She's So High (High Above Me)

by NightAuthor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Magic Reveal, Post-Season/Series 05 AU, Protective Arthur, Relationship Reveal, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Two Bromances For the Price of One, Waiting 'Til Marriage, like seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightAuthor/pseuds/NightAuthor
Summary: Morgana’s been defeated, magic is back in Camelot, and Merlin’s finally getting the recognition he deserves. So why is he still unhappy?





	1. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyVp-grJNcY)

Arthur bit back a groan as he took off his crown, rubbing the imprint it left behind as he set it on the table and sat. If he had his way, he’d only have to wear it during weddings and when he delivered Knighthoods, but with this treaty in the works, with the Kings and Queens of over a dozen countries all nitpicking and arguing over nonsense, he had to wear it whenever he left his chambers or risk offending one monarch or another. It had been going on for over three months now, and finally, there were only a few holdouts. The only reason the negotiations had gone as well as they had, he freely admitted, was the fact that he had Gwen, Annis, Elena, Mithian, and Merlin solidly on his side. Especially Merlin.

It had been over a year since Camlann, since learning of his former servant’s magic, since he had to face, once and for all, the fact that he had been wrong in his persecution of sorcery. At first, he’d been furious at the betrayal, but it had taken less than a day for him to see that Merlin was no different than before, and to see how the lie had weighed on him. The Great Dragon had been practically chatty as he flew them to Avalon, though Arthur had heard Merlin muttering something like ‘now he decides to be specific’ a few times.

He hadn't believed what the Dragon said, though, until Morgana showed up a few hours later and tried to kill him. She’d known who Merlin was, _what_ Merlin was, had said something about no mortal blade killing her, but she’d fallen to Excalibur, in Merlin’s hands. The full story of the blade had come out then, how it had been forged in a Dragon’s breath, how Uther had used it to kill the wraith all those years ago, how it was too powerful to be wielded by anyone but Arthur. He’d asked Merlin if it would kill him, then. The look on Merlin’s face, old and sorrowful and afraid, still haunted him. It hadn't been until a few hours later that he’d realized Merlin had been afraid he, Arthur, would kill him. 

It hadn't been until a few months later that he’d realized Merlin had also been afraid because he didn't know the answer. 

They’d commiserated over their fathers, Merlin had told him of Freya, and by the time they returned to the citadel, it had almost been as though nothing had changed. He’d decreed that magic was no longer punishable by death, that Merlin was to be made Court Sorcerer, and that henceforth, he would take charge of all laws concerning magic. So far, Merlin was still the only person other than Gwen who’d realized that Arthur had mostly been foisting the work onto his former servant. He’d extended an invitation for Hunith to live in Camelot as a Lady of the Court, and she’d accepted, though she largely stayed in the background with Gaius. He hadn't found the courage, yet, to tell her how much she was beginning to be the mother he’d never had.

It was odd, seeing Merlin with his family. Now that neither one had to hide, Gaius was able to claim him as his nephew, and although Merlin confided in Arthur that he still wondered how different his life might have been if Balinor had taken Hunith with him, the three of them clearly loved each other. Were clearly a family. That hurt more than Arthur really wanted to admit, but all three of them had simply folded him and Gwen in, and slowly, the ache left by his mother’s absence and his father’s death was easing. 

The aches left by so many of his Knights’ deaths, his friends’ deaths, didn't feel any weaker than the day he’d learnt of them.

But now that Camelot was finally becoming the Kingdom Arthur had always aspired to make it, now that everything seemed to be starting to go right, now there was just one problem.

The door opened and closed noisily, apparently moved by a gust of wind, and a dull thud sounded; Arthur smirked. Dual flashes of gold appeared first, and as they faded to blue, Merlin faded into view, leaning heavily against the door, hideously uncomfortable-looking clothes and all. With a melodramatic groan and another wordless spell, he was abruptly in his old servant’s clothes again, and he slumped into a chair across from Arthur, expression as irked as Arthur had ever seen him. “I swear, if I’d known there’d be all this fuss when I told everyone, I’d never have bothered.”

Arthur laughed. “You would rather be a servant than the most eligible bachelor in Albion, _Mer_ lin?”

The exasperated look Merlin threw him wasn't a bit changed from the first week they’d met, all those years ago. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d grown his hair and beard out considerably, Arthur could have thought it was the old days again. “I’d rather not be pawed at and gossiped over like a piece of meat, clot-pole.”

“Well, after doing the work of two armies last spring, thank you again for that, by the way, what did you expect?” Sullenly, Merlin floated a bottle of whisky to the table and poured two glasses. “You’re probably the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, which means that no one wants you as an enemy, and they think the best way to secure your favor is through marriage.”

Merlin tossed his glass back, then refilled it, scowling. “If they really want to ‘secure my favor’, they’ll leave me in peace… to marry whoever I want.” The last was in a low mutter Arthur barely heard, and he nearly dropped his glass.

Setting it carefully down, he leaned forward to better watch Merlin’s reaction. “Merlin, do you have someone in mind?” Merlin’s eyes leapt to Arthur’s, dropping back to his glass just as quickly, but the uncomfortable set of his jaw answered Arthur’s question for him. Laughing, Arthur could barely believe it. “You do!”

“Drop it.”

Easily, Arthur ignored him. “Who is she? Someone in Camelot, or in one of the delegations? Is she one of the ladies-in-wai— wait, is it the blond in Bayard’s party? That one’s been eyeing you for weeks—”

“I said drop it!” Brows shooting up at the snap, Arthur reevaluated Merlin; his expression wasn't just angry, it was pained, he was slumped in his chair, and he was staring into his glass as though alcohol would solve all his problems, which, Arthur could personally attest, it wouldn’t.

Sighing, Arthur slumped back, as well, watching him solemnly. “There’s something beside your eligibility in the way, isn't there?”

Merlin snorted. “You know, I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what a nosy prat you can be.”

“I remember what that feels like, Merlin.” The months when he and Gwen had been truly unable to be together, rather than simply unable to admit it, were still some of the most miserable he could remember. And if Merlin had fallen in love with someone at his level a year or more earlier, his new position and rank would make it a fool’s dream, as it had with Arthur and Gwen. At his name, the sorcerer had met Arthur’s eyes again, shock fading to recognition, then to pain as they lowered again. “Do you love her?”

Scoffing, Merlin set his half-full glass down. “I’ve loved her since the moment I saw her.” Huffing out a laugh, he grinned self-deprecatingly. “Not that I realized that at the time. I thought I was just upset that— uh, that a friend was courting her when I knew he was in love with another woman.”

“You were jealous?” Arthur grinned broadly at Merlin’s sheepish nod; he almost never got ammunition like this. More often now that he could walk in on Merlin trying to fix some silly mistake he’d made, like turning all the candles in the council chamber into bats, or the chairs into straw, or the Guards into wyverns. That had been a very strange day. And apparently, hiccups had very strange effects on sorcerers.

“I spent ages trying to make him look a fool so she’d leave him, but she’s so kind, and so just…” After staring at a wall for a few seconds, grinning soppily, apparently lost for words, Merlin just shook his head. “She just ignored it all, refused to think any less of him.”

Arthur chuckled. “Bet that annoyed you.” Merlin always hated it when things didn't go his way. 

“Oh, it did.” Slowly, Merlin’s grin faded into something far fonder, far more tender, far more laughably lovestruck, though Arthur resisted the urge to torment him, for now. There’d be time enough for that once he’d learned all he could about the girl who was supposedly good enough for the wisest, most loyal friend he’d ever had. “She just… always has this grace about her. Even when she’s taken off guard, like she’s capable of handling anything life throws at her.”

“And is she?”

A soft smile crept over Merlin, and he nodded, seeing something Arthur couldn’t, or some _one_ , he supposed. “Yeah, she is.”

He was silent for a moment, and Arthur shifted uncomfortably; the humor was beginning to fade, and he didn't know how else to deal with this sort of thing. “So,” he prompted, “You’ve loved her since the moment you saw her. What about her? What’d she think of you?” Raising his glass, Arthur stopped, smirking. “She must be the most forgiving woman in Albion to look past those ears, though.”

Merlin scoffed dramatically, mock-offended, but chuckled a second later. “Actually, I think she’d probably agree with you there; she says they’re endearing now, but she’s very tightlipped about what she thought of me when we met.”

They both chuckled at that, but Arthur’s mirth faded quickly as he watched his friend. Merlin had always been a cheerful man, apart from when he was complaining, but it hadn't been until this last year that Arthur had realized just how often it was an act. He was still learning to tell the difference between false smiles and true when it came to Merlin, complicated by the fact that Merlin was a much more accomplished liar than he’d known, but here, now, Merlin was more genuinely happy than he’d been in weeks. He looked almost relieved to be telling Arthur all this, which just made him wonder, “How long have you been keeping this a secret?”

Merlin sobered, and picked up his whiskey again. “How I feel about her? Since I realized how much I care for her, so five years, now. How she feels for me? Since she told me, so nearly two years. That I would marry her, if I could?” Stilling, Merlin just closed his eyes for a moment and downed his glass; almost too quietly to be heard, he repeated, “If I could.” Arthur stilled, as well, wondering if that had been the first time Merlin had realized that. Setting the glass down, Merlin met Arthur’s eyes. “About two months.”

A low exhale left Arthur, watching the warlock. A moment later, he huffed lightly, half-smiling. “Is this what I looked like when I was being an idiot about Gwen?” Scoffing, Merlin shook his head, looking pointedly away from Arthur, but he was fighting a smile, Arthur could see. “Because if it is, I can understand why you were so frustrated with me; it’s like watching a cat walk around with its head stuck in something.”

Merlin’s brows shot up, and he scoffed, “Oh, thanks.” Setting the glass down, his eyes flared and the bottle floated up to refill it, then moved to Arthur’s when he set it on the table. “And yes,” he added, “This _is_ like what you were like with Gwen, or at least I imagine it is.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Merlin scoffed and looked away, shaking his head; Arthur leaned forward over the table, trying to catch his eye. “No, _Mer_ lin— Why haven't you just asked her, yet? There must be _something_ in the way, although I can’t imagine what it is, what with you being, well, _Emrys_ , and all.”

“Leave it, Arthur.” The pained note in Merlin’s voice gave him pause, and he regarded the warlock for a moment, the heartache in his face, and compared it to a minute earlier, when he’d been happier than Arthur had seen in weeks.

“No.” Merlin scoffed again, this time with real pain in his face, and Arthur pointed at him. “No, you never ask for anything, even after all you’ve done.” A baffled frown met Arthur’s glare, but Arthur didn't slow. “You’ve never asked for a single thing, so what can I do?” He didn't answer, but he was at least looking at Arthur, so Arthur leaned back in his chair, still holding his eyes. “There’s something keeping you from marrying her, so what can I do to help clear it away?”

“No, it— It’s not—”

“Even if it’s just making time for you to go and propose, Merlin. Is there something, no matter how small, I can do?” Merlin stilled, but still didn't answer, and Arthur took a wild guess. “Is everyone trying to win your hand in marriage making it more difficult?” The warlock gave a tiny, reflexive nod before catching himself and taking a swig of whiskey; Arthur grinned. “Then consider it done.”

“ _Ar_ thur—”

“ _Mer_ lin! What happened to ‘people should marry for love, not convenience’?” Merlin just gaped at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, and Arthur filed the image away for future teasing. “Besides which, if ‘an unhappy king’ makes for a weaker kingdom, an unhappy sorcerer makes for a weaker Albion, or so I would think.”

For a few seconds, Merlin just stared at him, apparently speechless. “You—” The sound of the latch cut the warlock off, and the men shared a panicked glance for an instant before Arthur scrambled for his crown and Merlin hid the whiskey, barely managing it before the door opened and Gwen walked in with Hunith and Mithian. 

The Princess had been thick as thieves with the other two ever since she arrived in Camelot a few weeks before the rest of the delegates, and Arthur was glad of it; she wasn’t Gwen, and he didn’t think he ever really could have loved her like he did his wife, but she was a good friend and a capable ally. Hunith narrowed her eyes at the two men playfully. “What are you boys up to?”

Arthur replied, “Nothing,” at the same moment that Merlin did, and barely kept himself from echoing Merlin’s “Mum”, as well.

Gwen came around to Arthur’s side of the table and kissed him as Mithian pursed her lips at Merlin. “I think they were doing something they oughtn’t, don’t you, Gwen?”

She drew back just far enough to answer, and Arthur pulled her onto his lap as she did. “Definitely.”

Arthur scoffed, mimicking Merlin’s mock-offense from a few minutes earlier, and Merlin grinned at him over the table, then changed his expression to one carefully-innocent as Mithian sat next to him. Shaking her head as she chuckled, Hunith sat at the head of the table, between Arthur and Merlin. “Really, though, how are you all doing? I don’t like how busy these negotiations are keeping you.”

Merlin smirked. “Try being Arthur’s servant for a month.”

“Or Morgana’s,” Gwen contributed.

“Or her hostage!” Arthur and Gwen both winced at that, but Mithian just snickered at them unrepentantly.

Merlin snorted though, and grinned at her. “Or her assassin, although I don’t remember most of that.”

“Be grateful; I had to chase you around for two days.”

Mithian raised her brows at Gwen. “Really? How’d he do?”

“Absolute rubbish.” Mithian laughed, surprised, and Merlin rubbed his brow, looking as though he wished he hadn’t hidden the alcohol. “He knocked himself out, at one point.”

Mithian laughed again, and Merlin’s cheeks were a little pink as he protested, “I wasn’t myself!”

Gwen ignored him. “He had a sword, he had a straight shot at Arthur’s unsuspecting back, and he ran headlong into a wall as he charged.”

Groaning theatrically, Merlin slumped forward to rest his head on the table, face hidden, but with distinctly pink ear-tips visible as they poked up through his black locks. Still laughing, Mithian ruffled his hair. “Oh, poor Merlin.” Grumbling incoherently, he crossed his arms in front of his head, hiding himself further, but he didn’t shake off Mithian’s hand.

Arthur smirked. “And you keep saying _I’m_ dramatic.”

At almost the same instant, Gwen, Merlin, and Mithian replied, “You are.”

Laughing, Hunith added, “You _both_ are.” That sent everyone laughing, and the rest of the evening passed in much the same way. 

After the other three had left and it was just Arthur and Gwen in the room, he told her some of what Merlin had told him, being even more vague than the warlock had been. She shook off the surprise quickly, a hurt frown drawing her brows together. “And he never told me.”

He huffed. “Or me.”

Scoffing lightly, she leveled a flat look at him. “Of course he didn’t tell you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she pinched his lips together and raised her brows at him. “How much did you tease him when he first told you?” She released his lips, but he couldn’t actually dispute her point when she put it like that. “So of course he didn’t tell you, but I would’ve hoped he’d tell me. He’s been making such an effort to be more honest with us.”

He sighed, leaning his head against the chair while he laced his fingers through hers. “I know. And you should’ve seen him, Gwen. I’ve never seen him so happy.” Thinking over his words again, he stilled, then sighed again, heavily. “Yes, I have.” She furrowed her brows at him, and he smiled sadly at her. “He looked like he did when he first came to Camelot.”

Eyes going distant as she thought back, she slumped against him and he raised her hand to his lips. “He was so young then.”

“We all were.” Catching himself, he chuckled. “Well, you and Merlin were. I was just an idiot.” 

She snickered. “Think I’m about to argue?”

He gave a mock-offended scoff, but had to laugh with her a moment later. Once they sobered again, he leaned his head against hers; she squeezed his hand. “He truly loves her, Gwen. I don’t doubt that. But there’s something in the way— he wouldn’t tell me what, exactly, but he did say that things would be simpler if he didn’t have nearly every member of the nobility alive vying for his hand.”

Slowly, she nodded, then took a deep breath, expression firming. “Then we’ll make it simpler.”

Grinning, he leaned up to capture her lips in his. “That’s what I told him.” Laughing, she returned the kiss, and the rest of the night passed much more pleasurably.

But eventually, they had to set to work, recruiting Annis and her son, as well as Vivian and the new King of Deorham, Cynefrið, who was thankfully as inclined to peace as Alined had been to war. They debated including Elena or Mithian several times, but Gawant and Nemeth both had treaties of their own to negotiate, as the governing of both kingdoms would change drastically once they were consolidated into Camelot. Besides, neither of them had made any overtures toward Merlin.

Compared to securing Merlin’s freedom, the arrangements with Elena and Mithian’s kingdoms (or queendoms, as the case may be) had been effortless; both women were as intent on a united Albion as Arthur was (and, to a lesser extent, as Bayard was), and so the negotiations had largely been focused on the merging’s effects on trade, taxes, and the like. Neither Gawant nor Nemeth had ever been as opposed to magic as Camelot, the latter even going so far as to (covertly) offer sanctuary to many of the weaker magic users that fled from Uther’s wrath. 

There were times when Arthur wondered if that was part of the reason Merlin and Mithian got along so well, but then he would remember that they had even before he or Merlin knew of Nemeth’s practices. They always had, now that he thought of it, or at least they had since the second time she came to Camelot, two years before. Apparently they’d even begun writing each other just after she left then, and kept in contact steadily ever since; Merlin hadn’t told her of his magic, but he’d kept her well appraised of the goings-on in the castle, as her good-natured mockery of Arthur over the last few months attested. 

Honestly, did Merlin have to tell her about the goat incident? They hadn’t even told Gwen, for Albion’s sake.

They hadn’t told Hunith, either; Arthur dreaded to even imagine her reaction, and he knew Merlin was just as keen to avoid _that_ lecture.

But with the other rulers’ help, working out the right wording to avoid threatening the peace they’d established thus far was manageable, though not easy by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it wasn’t until several days later that they were satisfied.

With all the separate negotiations going on at once, they’d established a biweekly meeting of all the kingdoms’ leaders to announce what progress had been made and any points of contention that involved most or all of the nations. The morning before the next meeting, Arthur pulled aside Merlin for a private chat, made more so by a spell or two, and told him what he and the others had done.

Merlin gaped at him. “You what?”

Arthur smirked. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear me, _Mer_ lin; I’ll start thinking all that mind-speech is affecting your ears.” Merlin just blinked at him, mouth still hanging open, and Arthur shrugged lightly. “You said it would help.”

Finally, Merlin closed his mouth, but light gathered along his lower lid as he shook his head. “It— no, it does, Arthur. It…” Blinking rapidly, he gave Arthur a shaky smile. “Thank you, Arthur. I… This…” He shook his head again, but his smile widened. “This means more to me than I can say, it’s more than I ever expected.”

Holding his eyes, Arthur gripped Merlin’s shoulders, trying to make his ridiculous friend _see_ how much he meant his words. “This is the least I can do.” Merlin shook his head, opening his mouth, but Arthur gave him a little shake. “No, with everything you’ve done for me, for Camelot, for _Albion_ , this is the least you have coming back to you.” The warlock still didn’t look convinced, but that was an old argument, and one Arthur suspected would go on for several years more. But he could see that Merlin at least believed that _Arthur_ meant it, even if he didn’t believe it himself, and Arthur released his shoulders with a smile and a reassuring clap on the arm. “Besides, after all the knots you worked yourself into making sure I was able to marry the woman I love, did you really think I could do anything less?”

The warlock bobbed his head in a ‘well…’ gesture, and Arthur cuffed him upside the head (gently). Rubbing the spot, Merlin scoffed, “Prat.”

Arthur grinned. “Idiot.”

“Clotpole.”

“‘Dolma’.”

Merlin groaned, but he was smiling. “Ugh, are you never going to let me live that down?”

“Nope.” Merlin just laughed, and Arthur laid an arm over his shoulders, laughing with him, as they began moving to the meeting chambers.

As was habit by now, Merlin sat on Arthur’s right at the Round Table, Iseldir on his other side as the representative of the Druids; as it turned out, the older man had a morbid sense of humor rivaling Merlin’s own, and the two of them tended to run silent commentary on everything that wasn’t life and death, to Arthur’s annoyance. He was just glad that they could mostly manage to keep from laughing out loud.

On Arthur’s other side was Gwen, of course, with Leon beside her and Percival on Leon’s left. The rest of the Table varied according to the week’s progress, but on this occasion, Elena sat on Percival’s left and quickly fell into conversation with Leon, leaning over Percival to do so; Percival caught Arthur’s eye and bit back a grin as Camelot’s First Knight and the Princess of Gawant seemed to forget that there were other people in the room at all. Arthur returned the look, but then shot Percival a pointed look when Vivian entered the room; Anglia’s position on the other side of Ascetir from Camelot meant that Morgana and Morgause’s reign of terror had affected them more than any other kingdom but Camelot itself, and though Vivian’s tongue was as sharp as ever, she’d matured hugely since her disastrous visit all those years before. Arthur thanked God every day that he hadn’t married her, but she’d grown into a shrewd leader, and one he was glad to be allied with.

Merlin had seemed surprised, though glad, to see that she was no longer enchanted.

Percival, notably, hadn’t.

Arthur had his suspicions, he knew Merlin had his, and Gwen seemed oddly knowing, but all in all, Arthur thought Percival’s blush (and Vivian’s matching color) spoke for themselves.

Finally, all the delegates were present (though Nemeth’s oddly-tardy appearance had left Mithian only a spot on the far side of the Table), and the meeting could begin.

As was usual, most of the representatives had made marginal progress, some had reopened old wounds, and the rest had flowery platitudes, but nothing more substantial to offer. Arthur’s first chance to speak was only after nearly the entire rest of the Table had, but he stood confidently to address the room.

“Honored guests, Camelot, too has progress to report, which will affect some future proceedings.” There were a few murmurs around the table, but most looked curious. “Some of you may be aware that there has been some discussion of strengthening alliances and borders by means of procuring Emrys’ loyalty by means of marriage.” 

More whispers could be heard than seen, as the various servants in and around the room reacted, but he ignored them; he did take note of the delegates who looked especially wary, though. (For some reason, Mithian looked tense; Arthur chalked it up to concern for Merlin.) 

“While I cannot deny the advantages of having Emrys’ assistance, I will not condone such means of securing it. As such, from this point on, Camelot will not trade with any kingdoms which persist in such an effort against Emrys’ wishes.”

King Eadwig of Kent half-stood, scowling. “So says the man who has had Emrys’ protection for a full decade! Those of us who had no such defense would give much to safeguard our people from further suffering.”

Merlin tapped Arthur’s foot under the table, giving him a questioning glance when he met his eyes. Guessing at his meaning, Arthur nodded, and Merlin stood, squaring his shoulders as he addressed Eadwig. “You needn’t sacrifice anything, my Lord. My first loyalty is to Camelot, but my services do not exclusively belong to her. Anyone who requires help need simply ask for my assistance and I will provide what I can, or send an associate I trust in my place.”

Eadwig scoffed, but most of the Table was nodding in acknowledgement of Merlin’s words, and Mithian was outright glaring at the king. “No one could equal Emrys.”

“No _one_ , no,” Merlin’s voice was sharp, a hint of Emrys’ now-infamous steel showing as he stared down the king. “But a group, small or large, can be just as effective, and in some cases, the strength of a sorcerer is secondary to the intelligence. A clever solution, in my experience, is often more valuable than a dramatic one.”

Arthur carefully hid a proud smile behind his usual mask, though it nearly slipped as Iseldir mused aloud, “And surely Emrys would be more advantageous in such a central position  as Camelot, rather than a corner of Albion such as Kent?” Now Mithian was hiding a smile.

Eadwig turned abruptly purple and leaned back in his chair; Arthur cleared his throat to keep from laughing. “Is there any further business?”

Gracefully, Mithian stood, no trace of mirth on display. “As a matter of fact, there is.” 

Arthur and Merlin sat again, glancing at each other; Arthur wasn’t aware of whatever she was about to say, and he could tell Merlin was as curious as he was. Mithian licked her lips before she spoke, and Arthur sat a little straighter; that was a nervous habit of hers he’d noticed during a particularly ill-fated card game a fortnight before, but as far as he knew, it was the first time she’d done it during matters of state. Merlin stiffened, too, but Mithian didn’t so much as glance at him, instead keeping her eyes on Arthur.

“Nemeth is happy to report that after several weeks of deliberation, we have come to a decision regarding our governance.” Surprised, Arthur blinked; he’d thought that they were still some time away from coming to a decision; Mithian licked her lips again. “We will assent to being considered a province of Camelot, with the governor’s seat in the castle and lower barons under his supervision.”

‘His’, Arthur noted; he’d expected Mithian to keep her rule in Nemeth, even if she agreed to be under Camelot’s flag. This was unexpected, but he knew her too well at this point to think that she’d misspoken. No, she had someone in mind, or at least all the someones were male; she’d discussed a short list with him, of Lords in Nemeth she trusted to work towards Albion, one of which had accompanied her to Camelot. 

She gestured to him, seated to her right. “Lord Sigeweard will take up the role of governor for the time being, to be affirmed or rejected by Camelot on a later date, and Camelot will work with him and myself to select a replacement should he prove unsuited to the task.” 

It set a good precedent, and Arthur appreciated the gesture, but he didn’t really think it was necessary; he trusted Mithian’s judgement, and he doubted he’d take any issue with her chosen administrator. Lord Sigeweard seemed to be a good man; not a warrior, but a skilled diplomat, and one Arthur could see himself working with for some time. She almost seemed more nervous now, though, and Arthur realized she wasn’t looking around the table as she usually did, instead keeping her eyes on him, but somehow it almost seemed as though she wasn’t really looking at him at all; she licked her lips again. 

“The appointed governor, whether Lord Sigeweard or another, will have full authority as ruler of Nemeth, though under Camelot, of course,” she took a breath, and now she almost seemed to be hiding a smile, “and unless Camelot finds fault with those presented, the line of succession will pass through him,” Merlin shot to his feet, his chair falling over with a thud behind him, but his eyes were on Mithian, his expression strangely intense, and Arthur barely looked away from him long enough to see Mithian grin at the warlock more broadly than he’d ever seen before, “effective immediately.”

A sharp exhale left Merlin, then another, then another as a wide grin spread over his face, and then he was laughing, his hands shoved into his hair like he only did when he was especially excited. With an utterly too-exuberant-for-court _whoop_ , a surge of light burst out of him, blinding Arthur for an instant; when his eyes cleared, Merlin was on the other side of the room, spinning Mithian around in a half-dance, half-embrace, both of them laughing giddily.

Arthur could only stare at them, jaw practically on the table. After another half-dozen twirls, they slowed to a stop, but they didn’t move apart. To the contrary, Merlin’s hands only slipped down to her waist, holding her against him; her hands slipped into his hair and pulled his head down to lean his forehead against hers, both of them with their eyes closed and still laughing softly. They stayed like that for several seconds, unmoving except that Merlin was gently stroking his fingers over Mithian’s side and she was returning the motion over the nape of his neck, both of them blissfully unaware of the awkward silence in the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned out more of an Arthur fic than I was intending, but I’m happy with it. I saw this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyVp-grJNcY) like a year ago and couldn’t get over how cute Merlin/Mithian would be, but there’re practically no Merian fics on AO3. So I started writing this, and then I forgot about it, and then I remembered it a couple weeks ago. The rest of the chapters will be up in the next few days; hope you enjoy them!  
> Á bientôt!


	2. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

Gradually, pressure built in Arthur’s chest, until finally he exploded, “ _Her_?!?!” The delegates in his field of vision jolted badly, but the couple just broke into undignified sniggers. “ _She_ was who you were talking about?!”

At that, Mithian drew back from Merlin a fraction of an inch and opened her eyes to grin at him. “Aw, did you tell him about me?” As she spoke, she ruffled her hands through his hair to ruck it up into surprisingly-fluffy disarray.

Merlin didn’t fight her, only moved his hands from her waist to clasp them loosely at her back as he crookedly returned her grin. “Not much, just that you’re brilliant, incredible,” easily, he hooked his arms around her legs to lift her enough to twirl them both around again, “a mad, ridiculous, _impossible_ woman!”

She laughed as he spun her, looping her arms around his neck as she threw her head back. They slowed to a stop more quickly this time, and Merlin stared up at her with what Arthur could only call adoration. The way she looked back at him was less reverent, but no less loving, and an old memory drifted back to Arthur. _“I would give up my own kingdom to be so loved.”_

He was still hurt that neither of them had told him, but it eased somewhat, watching them. If anything, Merlin looked even happier than he had talking about his mystery woman those days ago, and Mithian obviously felt as strongly for him as he did for her. Arthur still felt hurt, but his friends were happy. Both of them had suffered so much, Merlin unbelievably so. This happiness was a drop in the bucket of what they deserved, and Arthur wouldn’t (even if he could) threaten it.

Of course, not everyone shared his altruism. Eadwig slammed his fist down on the table, pointing at the couple as he glared accusingly at Arthur. “Will Camelot stand for this— this—” With a wordless growl, he hit the table again; out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin drop Mithian gently to the floor, both of them stony-faced as they turned to face the king. Merlin’s eyes flared, but all that happened was that his hair smoothed down again. “Mere _minutes_ ago you claimed not to condone any such alliances, and now you would allow Nemeth—”

“Nemeth has no part of this.” Mithian’s voice filled the room, effectively silencing Eadwig, and Arthur had to smirk; even without magic, Mithian wielded the same authority as Emrys; with that in mind, maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she and Merlin would be drawn together. “Lord Sigeweard is now Governor of Nemeth, under Camelot’s supervision. I am no longer Princess of Nemeth, as I said.” Her expression softened as she looked up at Merlin, and her voice lowered to something more private. “Just Mithian.”

Smiling soppily at her, Merlin leaned down to press his forehead against hers, his hair falling to cover their eyes and cheeks, but their smiles were clearly visible. “Just Merlin.”

Gently, she swept his hair up out of their faces, both of them clearly trying and failing to keep from laughing. Arthur smiled, as well, but it was sad, and he turned to meet Gwen’s eyes, taking her hand as he did. The both of them had been privy to any number of rants from Merlin about how no one saw him as anything but ‘Emrys’ since the fact of his magic had been made public, never ‘just Merlin’. Arthur hadn’t realized that Mithian felt similarly, but it made sense; to love a man enough to sacrifice her kingdom did mean that she would want to know that her title didn’t matter to him, that she was ‘just Mithian’ with a crown or without.

In a way, it reminded him of him and Gwen; as the state of Albion stood, there was no risk that he would lose his throne, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would stand with him if that were to pass.

Lord Sigeweard cleared his throat quietly, and stood with a respectful bow to Arthur. “Lady Mithian has already agreed to continue fulfilling her duty to Nemeth for the course of the negotiations, but once that duty is complete, she will remain here in Camelot while the rest of our party returns to Nemeth.” He glanced at Mithian, but she and Merlin were murmuring to each other, and neither seemed to be following the rest of the room’s conversation at all. Biting back a laugh, Lord Sigeweard met Arthur’s eyes again and continued, “She has also expressed a wish to be of service to you, Sire, but she did not inform me of her preferred area.”

Holding himself stiffly as he fought to keep a neutral expression, Arthur inclined his head to the Lord. “I will discuss the matter with her at the first opportunity, but I thank you for the information. Does anyone present have any further business to address?” More than a few of the delegates were shooting Arthur or the pair sour glances, but no one spoke. “Then today’s meeting is hereby dismissed.”

Even the most obtuse of the nobility in the room couldn’t miss Arthur’s tone, and the room quickly emptied of all but the Camelotians, Mithian, Elena, and Iseldir. Arthur had half-expected Vivian to stay as well, but she left with nothing more than a glance at Percival and another towards the couple. The servants filed out as well, after a pointed glance from Gwen, and once the door closed behind the last of them, the group erupted into chatter. 

Arthur knew he ought to wait a few moments before asking anything, but he couldn’t resist a chance to tease his friend for being so twee while he clapped him on the back. Leon and Elena, though, were both equally vocal in their surprise, and Percival was only slightly less so. Gwen and Iseldir were both smiling but silent, though Arthur suspected that the latter was only audibly so, as Merlin shot him an exasperated glance.

Mithian just laughed at the uproar, even as Merlin groaned, blushing; Arthur thought the chaos might have gone on for some time if the door hadn’t opened suddenly. He, Merlin, and the knights all tensed at the intruder, but everyone but Merlin relaxed a moment later as Hunith ran toward them. Merlin’s blush deepened even further, but motion caught Arthur’s attention in the corner of his eye; he looked over just in time to see Vivian close the doors securely behind her, and to see Percival’s soft smile in the instant before the knight hid the expression.

Before Hunith could do more than beam at them, Mithian respectfully asked, “Could we move to the Table and sit down?”

Hunith nodded rapidly, eyes shining, and stood still, looking between the couple. After a moment, Gwen looped her arm through hers and gently tugged her to the Table; she was too much the Queen to actually laugh, but Arthur could see it tugging at her lips. The group followed (rearranging in order for Elena to sit beside Leon, and Vivian beside Percival; Arthur nearly laughed, as well), but Merlin and Mithian hung back. As he sat, Arthur watched them curiously, exchanging a bemused glance with his wife. Bracing herself on his chest and shoulder, Mithian stretched up to whisper something in Merlin’s ear; he raised his eyebrows, but grinned at her with a nod. As her hands trailed down to his, his eyes flared; the two empty chairs directly to Arthur’s right seemed to blur for a moment before reforming as a single, narrow, high-backed bench, just big enough for two. The bench pulled itself out as they stepped up to the table and pushed itself in as they sat, and Mithian quickly rearranged Merlin’s limbs so that she could curl against him, his arm around her. Smiling fondly, Merlin let her, and he kissed the top of her head once she was still.

Hunith was grinning so broadly that it looked painful, and in the end, Vivian was the one to break the silence. “So this obviously isn’t new.” Both of the happy couple snorted, and Vivian grinned wolfishly at them. “If I hadn’t seen everyone’s reactions, I’d think I was the last to know.”

Imagining her reaction if she _had_ been the only one left out, Arthur suppressed a shiver; one of many reasons he was glad he hadn’t married her was the fact that she could be bloody terrifying when she wanted to be. Merlin and Leon seemed just as unnerved, but Percival and the women just smirked at them. Mithian sobered quickly, though. “I am sorry we couldn’t tell you all.”

“We both are.”

Elena leaned toward the pair, resting her elbows on the Table in a (now-)rare display of less-than-genteel-manners. “Why couldn’t you?”

Pain flashed across Merlin’s face, and Mithian smiled sadly. “Because the Princess of Nemeth falling in love with a servant was impossible…”

Merlin finished her sentence, “…and then Emrys marrying for any reason but politics was just as absurd.”

“Add in the fact that I couldn’t leave my father, then my country…”

“…and I can’t leave Arthur, so can’t leave Camelot…”

“…not to mention that I was receiving just as many offers of marriage, all of which had to be considered…”

“…and it just hurt too much to talk about it.”

The group was silent for a moment. Then Arthur leaned over and cuffed Merlin on the back of the head. The warlock gave him a scathing look as he rubbed the spot, but Arthur didn’t give him the chance to speak. “Idiot. We would’ve helped you if you’d given us the chance, and in case it’s slipped your notice, half the reason the two of you are free to be all lovey-dovey right now,” Merlin protested the description; Mithian snorted, “is _because_ you told me what was going on.”

Merlin still looked mutinous, but before he could get a word out, he looked sharply at Iseldir, and Arthur had a feeling the Druid won that particular argument. Merlin abruptly turned beet-red, and Arthur just had to laugh. “Heaven’s sake, Iseldir, what’d you say to him?”

The Druid spread his hands innocently. “I only informed Emrys of certain prophecies he may not have been aware of.”

Arthur laughed harder, Percival and Elena joining him. At the same moment, Hunith excitedly leaned forward and asked, “When’s the wedding?”

Between the question, Merlin’s deepening blush, and the fact that Arthur wasn’t sure whether she was asking her son or Iseldir, Arthur broke into full belly-laughter, and the rest of the table erupted with him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems super short, but the first chapter was the longest. The scene where he spins her around was pretty much the entire reason I wrote this, so this and the next two chapters are pretty much just an epilogue in three parts. Next chapter is a few hundred words longer than this, though.   
> À Bientôt!


	3. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BROMANCE FTW

Arthur grabbed a vase out of the air as it floated past him. “Honestly, _Mer_ lin, I haven’t seen you so out-of-control since the birthday after Camlann.” One of many things Merlin had told him after the revelation of his magic was that Gaius had pulled the ‘tavern’ excuse out of thin air, and also that Merlin had never once gotten properly drunk, too afraid that it might make him lose control of his magic.

As it turned out, he’d been right.

Merlin glared at him, but didn’t stop pacing, or running his hands through his hair.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You being a worry-wart isn’t going to help any.”

Merlin growled. “I’m a physician, I should be in there!”

Calmly, Arthur countered, for about the fifth time, “You’re her husband, which is why you’re out here.”

“I could help!”

“You’ve been turning the citadel different colors since her contractions started; do you really want to put her life in your hands?” Merlin turned greenish-grey at the thought, but kept pacing.

“How are you so calm?”

Arthur shrugged. “She’s not my wife. Plus, I’ve been through this, remember?” 

Merlin barked out a laugh. “You were more of a wreck than me.”

Loftily, Arthur used his most prattish tone. “I have no idea what you mean.” 

Merlin just flashed a grin at him, which Arthur returned even as Merlin’s was swept away by fresh nerves again. Arthur _had_ been worse, he knew; he’d alternated between trying (and failing) to get Gaius to tell him all the things that could go wrong so he’d be prepared for the worst, and shouting at any and every poor, innocent servant who’d wandered into his vision. The only reason he’d been the slightest bit sane was that Merlin had been in the room with Gwen: not actually attending her (his exact words were ‘there are things I really don’t want to know about your wife, and this is one of them’), but on hand if something happened. He’d blocked off the sound in the room so only a cry for help could go further than him, and he’d been as surprised as Arthur to learn that a baby’s cries fell into that category.

Gwen and Hunith had just clucked their tongues at them as though it had been obvious.

Now that he was actually raising a child, Arthur supposed it _was_ , but he hadn’t known that then.

But then, as now, Arthur hadn’t been able to make up his mind as to whether the utter silence was better or worse than the screaming before Merlin had cast the spell. He did prefer _not_ hearing agonized screams, but the _waiting_ …

Quiet, mewling cries broke Arthur from his thoughts, and he looked up involuntarily to see that Merlin was stock-still and staring at the door. Arthur wasn’t actually sure the warlock was breathing. The cries tapered off, and Arthur stood, waved a hand in front of his friend’s eyes, and then lightly shoved Merlin toward the door. The motion seemed to snap him out of whatever stupor he was in, and he bolted into the room. Chuckling, Arthur leaned against the wall and waited. He knew from Rórdán’s birth two years before that the new mother would need time to clean up, and the new father would probably need time to pull himself together.

When he’d run into the room himself, when he’d seen his son for the first time, _held_ him for the first time, it… it had been indescribable. The entire world had reordered itself in the blink of an eye, everything in his world shunting off to the side so that his son could be first and foremost in his life. Gwen had described something similar when they first realized she was pregnant, but for some reason, perhaps because he couldn’t feel him move like Gwen could, Arthur hadn’t really known his child was _real_ until he’d held him in his arms. He’d known, of course, but in the same way that he knew how magic felt to a warlock, or that his great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather had been called ‘Pendragon’ because he’d been the first non-Dragonlord to gain one’s trust. 

Holding Rórdán, that had been like seeing Gwen healed at the Cauldron of Arhianrhod, or fighting in his first battle, or flying on Kilgharrah. What had been a theory had suddenly become so overwhelmingly real that it was inescapable, and had changed him for good.

It was a little different for Merlin, he knew; now that Merlin could use magic openly, he’d become scarily proficient at creating spells on the spot, and he’d been using magic to monitor Mithian and the baby’s health since they first realized why she felt so strange. (Their two _very_ different pregnancies had led Gwen and Mithian to create a game between the two of them: every time Gwen had morning sickness, Mithian owed her a favor; every time Mithian had some sort of craving, Gwen owed her.)

Merlin had been in awe of Mithian and the tiny life he could sense since the first weeks of her pregnancy, but even so, Arthur would put good money on him having the same sort of reaction to holding his child for the first time that Arthur had.

Sure enough, when the door finally opened some half-hour or so later, Merlin’s face was blotchy, tear-stained, and practically radiant. Arthur smirked. “Have you been crying, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin glared at him half-heartedly, but Mithian called tiredly (but teasingly) from inside, “Like a baby.”

Arthur had to laugh at that, and Merlin automatically shot off, “So did you!”

Unable to deny it, Arthur just shrugged, and Merlin grinned at him for a moment before sobering fractionally. “I’ve been kicked out until I can… what was it?”

“Stop being a mother hen!” The familiar tease brought grins to both men’s faces, and Merlin stepped into the corridor with a final glance inside.

“I’m guessing you haven’t told Gwen yet? I’ll go do that.” Still grinning like an idiot, Merlin headed down the hall.

Arthur moved to close the door, but Mithian stopped him. “Oh, get in here, clotpole.”

Snorting, Arthur obeyed. “I swear, one of these days, I’m going to get Merlin back for that name.”

“Yes, and you’ve been saying that for at least four years, haven’t you?” Mithian grinned up at him from the bed as he stood beside her. All in all, she looked almost as though she’d simply woken up a moment before with a baby in her arms; Arthur guessed Merlin had helped her clean up. But if he was honest, most of his attention was on the tiny bundle of blankets.

“A boy?”

She shook her head, looking down at her baby again, and gently pulled the blankets just far enough aside to reveal the little face. “Girl. My girl.”

Slowly, and only after she nodded permission for him to, he sat on the edge of the bed for a better look. “She’s beautiful.”

To be completely honest, it was a bit of an exaggeration. After a bit of experience with children, Arthur was quickly learning that he preferred them at least able to look at him, and he much preferred them when they looked like tiny people and not pink, squished potatoes, but for a newborn, she _was_ beautiful.

“Here.” Mithian leaned a fraction toward him.

It took Arthur a moment to understand. “Wh— No, she’s your daughter!”

She cut him off sternly. “And Merlin and I _both_ want you to be the first one other than the two of us and the midwife to hold her.”

He held her gaze for a beat, two, then shook his head in good-natured defeat. “Have you been taking glaring lessons from Hunith?” As he spoke, he carefully picked up the girl, all of Gaius and Gwen’s lessons on what to do and what _not_ to do when holding a newborn running through his head.

Mithian was watching him carefully, but she leaned back against the pillows easily enough. “You know,” she drawled conversationally, “you could just call her ‘Mum’. I know you want to.” Feeling heat flood his cheeks, Arthur sputtered for a moment, but she just laughed. “I swear, your face when you let that slip—!”

“It was an accident!”

“But you meant it.” He still felt pink, but she held his eyes solemnly. “She sees you as another son, Merlin thinks of you as his brother, _I_ think of you as a brother— I know you feel the same for us.”

Feeling the heat in his cheeks move to the backs of his eyes, he swallowed thickly and looked down at the tiny, wrinkled face. “You know, your Mum and Dad are both annoyingly perceptive; I hope you aren’t, as well, or I’ll have no secrets left.”

Mithian laughed again. “Speaking of Gwen, I’d half-expected to see her as soon as the door opened.”

The unspoken question was obvious, and he answered easily. “She wasn’t feeling well, so she went to lie down for a nap an hour or so ago. I didn’t want to leave Merlin, and then I didn’t want to wake her until I knew you two were ready.”

“Three,” she corrected; her eyes fell to her daughter again, and softened adoringly.

“Three,” he agreed. They just looked at the girl for a long moment, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “So, what should I call the newest Lady Kelliwic?” 

Arthur had been surprised to find that Balinor actually _had_ been a Lord of Camelot, as had his fellow Dragonlords, but at least he could return that much to Merlin. It was the least his family could do, after so much death.

Granted, he’d had to almost literally drag Merlin, kicking and screaming, into actually accepting the title, but if there hadn’t already been a title for him, Arthur would’ve just made one up. Merlin was the single most loyal citizen of Camelot; he was going to be on Arthur’s Council of Lords if it killed him.

Mithian chuckled. “Veryan. Veryan Freya of Kelliwic.”

The middle name reverberated through Arthur’s mind, and he stilled. Cautiously, he looked at her. “He told you? About…”

She smiled sadly. “About Freya? Yes. The letter was almost illegible, what with all the tear-stains, but he did tell me.”

“And you…” He wasn’t sure how he wanted to finish that sentence, but as was often the case with those two, he didn’t need to.

Mithian shook her head. “I don’t want him to forget her. He loved her dearly; he wouldn’t be the man I love if some part of him didn’t still love her.”

Warily, he ventured, “And it doesn’t bother you?”

She raised a brow at him. “You named your son Rórdán Lancelot.”

Automatically, he protested, “Lancelot was a good man!”

“And he was in love with your wife.” Jaw tight, he looked down at Veryan again. Gently, Mithian rested the tips of her fingers on his arm. “Gwen made her choice, and she chose you. Merlin never had the choice, but… Freya sounds like she was a wonderful woman. I can’t say that I wish everything had turned out differently, but I do wish I could’ve met her, just once. But she’s as much a part of Merlin’s past as Will, or Balinor, or Lancelot or Morgana or Mordred or Gwaine. I won’t ask him to pretend she never existed.”

Veryan mewled softly, and Arthur handed her back to her mother. Mithian smiled, lightly tracing her finger along her daughter’s cheek. “Besides, I wouldn’t have suggested naming our daughter after her if I thought he still had feelings for her.”

Arthur’s brows shot up. “You—”

She smiled innocently at him. “Merlin’s known we’d have a girl for months, but we still chose names for both, just in case. He thought maybe ‘Isolde’, but we decided to save that for the next daughter.”

He huffed out a laugh. “‘Next’? Planning on several?”

She grimaced in exaggerated discomfort. “Not for a while, I hope.” He laughed; her expression cleared into a calm solemnity. “We want you to be Godfather.”

For a few moments, he just gaped at her. “You…”

She held his eyes steadily. “There’s no one else either of us would choose.” The moment stretched out, the seconds seeming longer, until he nodded wordlessly. Mithian smiled softly at him, then abruptly grinned teasingly. “Granted, there’s a bit of debate whether Gwen or Elena should be Godmother, but don’t tell her that. And don’t let on I already asked you; it was meant to be a surprise.”

That loosened his heart from his throat enough for him to laugh, and he stood, careful not to jostle mother or daughter. “Well, thank you for the warning.”

She shrugged. “What else are sisters for?”

According to Morgana, sisters were for nearly anything else, but he smiled through the blur in his vision. Mithian had been right, after all. She was nearly as much his sister as Merlin was his brother, and she was more of a sister to him than Morgana had been since learning that she actually _was_ his sister.

Between his pseudo-siblings, Hunith, Gaius, and of course Gwen and Rórdán, Arthur had more family than he ever had before, and now it seemed he had a Goddaughter to add to the mix. In a couple of months, Rórdán would have a sibling, and then, who knew?

Camelot was prospering, Albion was coming together, his people were growing to accept magic as much as he did, and his family could only grow.

The prophecies had never spoken of happiness. For once, Arthur was glad to be surprised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really don’t think Arthur and Mithian would make a good couple, but as you can tell, I think once he got to know her, the two of them would have a bromance almost as epic as his and Merlin’s. Also, there’s a Wicked reference in there for my fellow musical theater fans. Let’s see how many people spot it!  
> One more update!  
> (P.S., 'Kelliwic' is an alternate spelling of 'Celliwig', which is an actual place in Arthurian legend. Look it up and you'll see why I could *not* pass up a meaning like that. (^u^))  
> (P.P.S., Arthur and Merlin would totally both be criers, fight me.)  
> À bientôt!


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

“No, I told you, I have a mountain of homework to do. No. I said no, George. My foster Dad’s going to kill me if I flunk Trig. N— …Fine. Text me the details, I’ll come if I can. Yeah. Ye— Shut up! Oh, f—”

A sudden impact knocked Arthur to the ground and his phone into the street. Before he could even react, someone darted out to grab it while someone else put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

He knocked the man’s hand aside and stood on his own; the woman who’d rescued his phone handed it back to him as she moved to stand beside the man. “Don’t listen to him; he’s incurably clumsy.”

How pale the man was made his blush seem more vivid, but his beard covered a lot of it. “I am not!”

With a snort, the brunette leaned slightly toward Arthur, brown eyes dancing as she mock-whispered, “He is, literally.”

For some reason, Arthur could believe that easily, and he snorted out a laugh. “Thanks for saving my phone.”

She waved a hand impatiently. “Least I could do.”

Smoothly, the man interjected, “And the least I can do to make up for knocking you over is point you in the right direction.”

Arthur frowned blankly at him. “What?”

The man’s blush returned faintly. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard you mention having trouble with Trigonometry? My wife and I own the café on the corner; there’s a study group that comes by a few nights a week, and I’ve heard them discussing Trig, among other things.”

Confused, Arthur looked around. He didn’t usually walk home, so he wasn’t familiar with the block, but he couldn’t see a café. The woman stifled a snort; Arthur might have gotten mad if he hadn’t seen her toss a pointed glance at… her husband, Arthur supposed. “The bookstore, across the street, see?”

Following her finger, Arthur found the sign. “ _The Magic Word?”_

The man snickered. “If you can’t guess the wifi password on your first try, you have to leave a tip.” 

Arthur snorted, not sure what to make of the man’s sense of humor. “So it’s a bookstore? I thought you said it’s a café?”

The man grinned childishly at him, nearly vibrating. “So, you’re asking… what’s _The Magic W—_ ”

The woman smacked him lightly on the arm. “Excuse him, he’s a ten-year-old at heart.”

He didn’t even try to fight it, and looked at Arthur again, still chuckling. “Anyway, it’s a combination cyber-café-bookstore-music-store. We own the whole building, actually, not just the store space.”

“And we’re open 24-7, so anytime you have a last-minute test you need to study for, we have a dozen practice rooms that are barely ever used. And if you ever need a part-time job, we can always find something for you to do.” The woman was smiling at him warmly, and against his will, Arthur felt a pang; was that how a mother would look at him? “I’m Mithian, by the way. Mithian Killiwic.”

The man waved a hand. “Merlin Killiwic.”

Shaking his head, Arthur grinned; these people were beyond weird, but he liked them. And besides, he could use a place to study. “I’m Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked this. I've been in love with the Merlin fandom for almost as long as the Hobbit fandom, so I'm really glad to actually post something in it, finally. (I've actually starting writing several Merlin fics, this is just the first one I've finished. (u=u))  
> Anyway, as this fic proves, I get distracted from what I'm supposed to be working on a lot, but I am still working on the fics I've mentioned in other fic notes. I can't really give any ETPs, (Estimated Time to Post), but they are still officially WiPs.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> À bientôt!
> 
> (P.S., I know what happens with Merlin, Mithian, and Arthur next, but if I try to write it, I'll derail my other fics completely. If anyone's interested in continuing it, I can send you my notes. (^=u=^) Just sayin' in case someone wants to. Fingers crossed!)  
> (P.P.S., 'George' isn't George from Merlin, he's George from Poldark. Much more obnoxious. (^u^))


End file.
